AM I THE KIND OF HUMAN WRECKAGE THAT YOU LOVE?
by xoDestroya
Summary: Gerard Way is a failing artist who is wasting his life away on alcohol, drugs and video games. It's only until after witnissing the twin towers collapsing over New York that he decides that he needs to make a difference. With that, and meeting a strange boy called Frank with a certain lust for blood, he knows that his life is taking a huge twist, but what will happen?
1. Chapter 1

AM I THE KIND OF HUMAN WRECKAGE THAT YOU LOVE?  
PROLOUGE.

I'm all alone. The darkness is caving in on me, any minute he'll come. The light is quickly fading, barely managing to filter in through the filthy window. This is when he comes for me. Every night, after the darkness. My eyes dart about, and I'm almost begging for the light to stay. In attempt to comfort myself, I wrap my arms around my knees and burrow my head into rough fabric of my jeans. Rocking myself softly, I try to ignore the panicked whispers all around me. I want to tell them to shut up, but I don't dare open my mouth.  
He's coming. He's coming. He's coming.  
That's the only thing I can think. It's what they keep telling me. It runs though my head, a never ending loop. I don't want him to come, I just want him to leave me alone. All I want is to be left alone. I don't want anybody, all I want is for the light to stay.

But it's gone. I bite my lip. My breathing is coming in sharp, shaky breaths. He says it's not good when that happens. I need to be calm. Deep breaths. That's what he tells me, but I can't trust him! He's lied to me before, he always lies. I shouldn't do as he says. He tells me that he's only trying to help me, but all he does is hurt me. That's what he's going to do when he gets here, hurt me.

I'm sick of being hurt. It's all he does, yet he says he cares about me. He tells me that I need him, and that he needs me. We've only got each other. I don't need him though. I wish he would understand that, but he never listens to me. Never. I'm nothing to him. He doesn't really care. Nobody does, why would they?

I hear footsteps, and instantly, I cower away. I try pushing myself further into the tiny corner. Maybe it won't be him. Maybe she'll come before him. Sometimes she does. She never stays long, but she makes it more bearable for when he get's here. I lift my head slowly, unsure of what to expect. I smile when I see her.

"He won't be long," she tells me, a look of worry on her face. Her eyes are darker today. Sometimes they do that, they change colors. So do his. She smooths out her black jacket, and picks at one of the white strips on the front. Looking down, she purses her lips. "I'm not going to be able to see you for much longer,"

"You can never stay for long..." I mutter, slightly disappointed. Her body stiffens up, and she shakes her head.

"No, I mean, this might be the last time I can come see you," there is a look of guilt in her black orbs. My heart sinks, but I'm too tired to react with anything that involves major body movement.

"But, you can't," I tell her. "Please, don't leave me. Not with him, I can't..." I bite my lip, knowing if I keep talking, I'll end up crying. I don't want to look weak. It's been a while since I've cried... I can't remember the last time I did.

"You won't be alone, somebody else will come," she smiles softly, and pushes a long stand of blonde hair from her face. I shake my head.

"I don't want somebody else, what if they are like him?" my voice cracks slightly toward the end of the sentence. She looks at me with pity in her eyes.

"He won't be. He's a nice kid, I've been watching him. You'll like him, I promise," the room grows slightly dark and she takes a step backwards. "He's going to help you, more than I ever could,"

"I don't want help," I grunt stubbornly, glaring at her.

"No, you don't want it. But, you need it,"

I'm about to open my mouth, ready for an argument, when she dissapears. The darkness engulfes her, putting her out like a flame. Was that... the last time I would ever see her? I shake my head. It couldn't have been. She wouldn't leave me, she can't. I need her.

The door opens. He's here.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 1. SHUT UP AND PLAY

"Dude! For fu- I seriously? No, wait.. wait! Fuck, gimme a chance! Shit, no, no, no!" Ray finally gives in, throwing the game cube controller at the wall. The wire catches it just before it collides, and it falls to the ground, landing on a pillow.

"Well, I win. You know what that means," I grin sloppily at him, leaning back against my old beat up couch. His face drops.

"No,"

"Yes, c'mon, you promised," my grin widens at the horror in his eyes. "We made a deal. I told you I would kick your ass,"

"But, Gee..." he tries giving me his best puppy dog eyes, and even uses my nickname. Not gonna work. Especially when you use that name, Toro. I thought you knew me better than this...

"Nope. A deal is a deal, so say it. Say it now," I persist.

He squirms, clearly uncomfortable. I find myself enjoying seeing him in pain like this. Serves him right. Nobody beats the master, not even Ray Toro. It takes a minute for him to sum up the courage to look me in the eye again.

"I am your bitch," he spits, glaring at me.

"Go on..." I nod in agreement.

"And I want you to make me moan, Master Gerard please fuck me," his voice is dull and bland, not a speck of emotion in it.

"Good Ray, good boy," I smile and reach forward to pet his hair as if he were a five year old. Except no five year old could ever have hair as epic as Ray's.

"I hate you," he says, letting me play with his hair.

"I know," I say in a happy tone, and scoot closer toward him. He slouches backwards, slurping at his beer. I sit up beside him, and plant my hands into his fro. It's soft and fluffy, and feels incredibly deep. Delving in further and exploring the darkest reaches of the bundle of fuzz, I manage to dig my way to his head. "Aha!" I smile triumphantly. "I found it!"

"Found what? He twists around, pulling me with him. Glancing up at me, he gives me a look of pure concern as if he thinks I'm crazy.

"Your head. It was hiding under all this hair," the look of pure concern on his face turns into a look of amusment. "You're a crazy asshole, and you seriously need help,"

I shrug. "Maybe, maybe I do," and then I go back to playing with his hair.

Eventually I end up making some cute plaits out of his crazy locks, and I admire my creation as I sit back to get a good look at my master piece.

"Gerard, look,"

"Hm?" I blink, then look at the screen. "What is it?"

I don't know why I asked, as it was pretty obvious. On the television, a news reporter sits at a desk, and an image of a boy, around seventeen is beside her. Underneath the image, it says 'MISSING'. I purse my lips. This hasn't been on the news for a while now. Nobody knows where this kid is, he went missing years ago. Why are they putting it back up? I guess they have just found a lead or something. Or maybe they just found his dead body. That's how most kidnapping/disappearences are solved these days.

"It's that kid, the one who went missing six or seven years ago. Don't you remember? He lived just down the street from your parent's house,"

"Yeah, I remember now. What's happened?" I stop messing with his hair, and sink back into the couch. I reach for another beer and crack it open.

Ray doesn't say anthing. So I instead pay attention to the news reporter. "-since the boy was last seen. But, uncomfirmed sources have informed the police department of an annonymous tip that has lead Detective Lindsey Ballato to believe that despite the evidence of Iero's death, the boy may be still in fact, alive. Details of the case haven't been released yet," the reporter does that thing where she gathers all of her papers and neatens them out, tapping them against the table. I look back to Ray.

"Poor kid, I hope they find him," he mutters, shaking his fro. "More video games?" he asks me before I get a chance to input on the missing kid. I smile, but it feels forced as I nod.

"Yeah, sure. Just gonna get another coffee, I'm not in the mood for this crap," I gesture to the cheap can of lager I had put on the table. "You want one?"

"No, your cheap coffee is even worse than this cheap booze," he sticks his tounge out at me as if he were a child. I roll my eyes, knowing that the crap that just came out of his mouth is bullshit. I only buy the best coffee.

"You should be glad I offered, it's not often that somebody like you would get the privlage of drinking Way brewed coffee,"

"Dude, you buy your coffee. You don't even know how to 'brew' it. Besides, I thought you brew tea, not coffee," he frowns, stopping to ponder the mystery. I chuckle at him then quietly slip out of the room. Once I'm in the kitchen, I start to do what I first set out to do, but something catches my eye and I stop. I glance behind myself, just to check that Ray hasn't snuck up on me. No one is there. My gaze returns to what caught my eye. I know I shouldn't. Mikey made me promise that I wouldn't, and I'm sure Ray wouldn't be happy with me either if I do it. I chew my bottom lip, and shuffle toward the small plastic container I had left out from last week before Mikey found out. I had meant to bin them, but I'd completly forgotten about their existance. Picking it up, I inspect the insides. There are about ten left, at a guess. I can just have one, then no more. One isn't going to do much more than give me a small buzz. It's not like it will kill me.

I shrug, and pop it open. Nobody is here still, so I'm safe. I carefully tip it upside down, trying to get just one out, but I end up with two. I don't bother putting one back, and I quickly throw them in my mouth before I stash the rest of them somewhere I know Mikey will never find them. I finish making coffee, and then go back into the living room to see a pissed off looking Ray.

"Who shoved a stick up your ass?" I ask, sitting down and putting my coffee on the stained table.

"Huh, wha...?" he blinks, then looks at me, gormlessly. I roll my eyes.

"Fucking idiot, never mind," I grumble, punching him in the fro. Something dangerous stirs in his eyes, as if he's about to tackle me to the ground and feast on my flesh, but he doesn't, because somebody knocks at the door. I will have to thank that person at some point. They may have just saved my life.

"I'll get it!" I blurt out instantly, and jump to my feet with a small, not needed giggle. I dart over to the door, and pull it open. Looks like bean pole boy is here. I swear he's grown even taller since I last saw him. He towers over me now, it's quite intimidating. I remember when he was shorter than me. I wish it was still like that. He's done something different with his hair that makes me want to giggle some more, but I don't because that would be mean. He usually gells it backwards with some special moose crap to make it look darker, but today it's straightened into sort of like a mohawk.

"I was wondering when you would finally get your ass over here," I say, gesturing for him to come in. I'm glad that I erased the evidence of my 'drug use'. He would freak out if he saw it. Not that they are really 'drugs', drugs. It is legit medication.

"I was a little busy," He says, looking shady. He's got his hands behind his back, and I can't tell what, but he's holding something behind his back I think.

"Doing what?" I ask, frowning. I wanted to add a dirty comment about him and Alicia there, but I didn't. Instead, Ray does.

"He's been having violent, passionate sex with his girlfriend," I really didn't expect to hear that come form Princess Fro Fro's mouth.

"N-No I wasn't!" Mikey instantly puts his defensive barriers up, turning a deep shade of red. "I was out shopping,"

"Were you shopping for a new haircut by any chance?" I raise an eyebrow up at him. he turns an even darker shade of red. It's kind of more a purple actually.

"No! I uh, cut it myself..." he admits. "I was actually out at the music store,"

Instantly, Ray's fro bob's up and he looks at Mikey. Looks like somebody is interested. I'm fairly curious too, and I gesture for him to go on.

"Well, you see, I've been thinking a lot lately. I might try play bass again. I was pretty crappy at it before, but I wanna give it another shot. Plus, I've come up with a killer band name, so I need to start a band and use it," he explains in a rushed tone. "So, I kinda maybe used up all of my money buying this," he whips out a brand new, very, very, very expensive looking bass guitar from behind his back. It's certainly nice, and if you can play well, then it's definatly worth it. It's a deep red, resembling it's owners face right this minute, but it looks too perfect in a way. I can just imagine Mikey trying to play it, but being too scared of scratching it's flawless glossy paint job. I was like that with my guitar, but after a while, I smashed the fuck out of it and made a right mess of it's perfect body. Afterwards, it looked pretty kickass, and it still works which was a miracle.

"Holy fuck..." Ray flops off the couch then wiggles over to Mikey to admire his bass. "It's... do you know what you're holding...?" he looks up at my brother, a gleaming sparkle in his eyes.

"Um, well it-"

"Shh... don't... don't..." Ray takes the bass in his arms, sort of hugging it. Weirdo. I leave them to have fun with their new toy, and I go into the kitchen. Time to make more coffee. Mikey might say that he comes to my new apartment so he can see me, but really I know he comes for the coffee because Alicia won't let him buy a decent coffee machine.

I have some time to think. So my little brother wants to start a rock band, huh? It's cute. He can play quite well after all, do I don't see why not. He's not brilliant, but he was only playing for about six months before he gave it up, and he was pretty good back then. I can't remember what happened to his old bass. I think it got destroyed in an argument he had with his girlfriend, but I'm not sure. Maybe him and Ray can start their own band together. Ray is one mother fucking good guitarist. He's proberbly the best I know to be honest. I don't think he's busy with any other bands right now. He was playing drums at one point with some other guys, but he ditched the drums a while ago.

With Mikey becoming a freshly inspired musician, of course I feel the familiar temptation to go dig out my old guitar, but it's useless. I can't play. I suck at it. I'll just draw instead later. I just need to get the whole creative stream out of my system. Besides, I have some stuff I need to get finished for work.

When I go back in, somehow an amp has appeared out of thin air, and Ray seems to be giving Mikey lessons. I stop and watch them from the doorway for a moment. Ray is sat on one of the wooden armless chairs, and has Mikey propped up on his lap. He has his ams wrapped around him so he can show Mikey where to put his fingers on the fret board by moving his hands around with his.

"No, no, you don't do it like that, right. Watch for a minute, I'll show you," Ray flicks Mikey's left hand away from the bass and proceeds to take over the fret board. He pushes his fingers down on a few different strings to form some complicated chord that I would never stand a chance of learning. "Strum now," he orders. The sandy blonde instantly complies, and firmly runs his pick over the strings. A strange, but enchanting note rings out from the speakers.

"Ah... I get it now. Can I have a go?"

"No. I'm on it, I just wanna try something," Ray hogs the bass, clearly adopting it as his own, whereas Mikey sits there groaning, waiting to actually get a go. I shake my head at them, and bring the coffee through. Mikey looks up at me mouthing 'HELP ME FOR FUCK'S SAKE' with what almost looks like tears in his eyes. I chuckle at my little brother's pain.

"Mikes..." I say, raising my voice sightly over the elaborate bass line that Ray is currently performing. "How much was the bass exactly?" I've been slightly worried about asking this question. It does look VERY expensive, and he looked pretty guilty when he told us.

"Why?" he asks, getting defensive again. I frown.

"Because you haven't told Alicia you've bought it yet, have you?" I read his mind using the super powers I wish I had. He gulps.

"No, I haven't..."

"So, how much?"

"I... uh..."

"It was three thousand and seventy dollars," Ray suddenly informs us, killing the bass by pulling the jack out.

"How the fuck did you know?" Mikey snaps, jumping off his lap.

"I've seen it before," Ray starts to explain, but I'm about to cut him off.

"Three thousaund dollars?" I explaim, glaring at my brother.

"And seventy," Ray adds, being the asshole he is.

"Well, yeah. I mean... oh, Gee, I just had too! Look at her, she's so beautiful!" he glances down to 'her' and gazes at it lovingly.

"Do you even have three thousand dollars?" I take a step closer toward him, and although he's towering over me right now, I feel pretty intimidating. Good. He should be crapping his pants. Not because of me though, but becuase of Alicia. She is going to kill him.

"No, not any more I suppose," he gives me a stupid smile trying to lighten the situation. He notices that I'm not impressed. "Look, Gee," he uses my nickname. Only he can get away with that. "It's gonna pay off, I mean, what if I can actually get in a good band? What if we actually make it?"

I bite my lip. I want to tell him the truth, that making a band get big is hard work, that there is a good chance he's going nowhere, but I don't wanna make him feel like shit. Instead, I just shrug it off. "Well, go and ask your girlfriend that. She's the one you've gotta be scared of,"

"Yeah, Alicia scares me. No disrespect there dude, your girl is awesome and all, but she can be really terrifying," Ray admits. I fall back into the couch, and let it's overly softness suck me in. I rub my eyes with a loud yawn. I only just realize how tired I am.

"You guys wanna crash? It's getting late and I want sleep so you can either fuck off or stay here and be quiet," I leave the question to hang in the air for a moment. Mikey is the first to answer me.

"I'm not staying here, my bed at home is too comfy to abandon," he get's up and stretches.

"You just wanna have some awesome sex with Alicia..." Ray teases him with a smirk. Mikey scowls before turning to leave.

"You're forgetting something," I state. He turns to face me and smiles sheeplishly.

"Yeah, if you don't mind I'm gonna leave it here for now," he rubs the back of his head. I sigh, and they both leave after another ten minutes. I decide to get some long overdue art work finished, so I collect my things, and lay some paper out on the coffee table, being careful not to get it wet from any of the spills. I frown at the page, chewing the end of my pencil. I can't think of very much to draw. I have plenty of things that the Cartoon Network has set me to do, but none of it interests me. I rub my temples and close my eyes, waiting for inspiration to hit me.

I hum quietly to myself. It's a tune I don't recognise, but it interests me so I carry on. I open my eyes, and look back at the page. Artist's block. It's definately the one thing I hate more than anything. Especially when I actually have work to get though, but how am I supposed to draw if I have nothing to inspire me? How do I meet deadlines if that's the case? My boss doesn't understand this, I don't think.

"Hand in mine, into your icy blues..." I murmer to myself, fixing it in with the tune I have stuck in my head. "And then I'd say to you, we could take to the highway..." I feel as if more words should follow on, but I go silent. I'm not in a singing mood, or a creative mood whatsoever. Maybe I should just go to sleep. Maybe I'll get lucky and wake up really inspired by some crazy dream.

I yawn again. I lie down and let my eyes fall shut. I expect sleep to take me away instantly, but it doesn't. Instead, the thought of the missing kid pops up into my head. I wonder where he is... if he's actually still alive. Ray said that he used to live near my parent's house, back before I moved out, but I don't remember him. I try to recall his name, but I can't. I only heard his second name on that news report. Iero, I think. It doesn't ring a bell. Maybe Ray was wrong, maybe the kid isn't even from New Jersey. I have no idea. I never got out much, and still don't, so I never really paid much attention to the neighbourhood kids. He didn't go to my school though, that's for sure. I would have known him if that was the case.

I think it would be kind of interesting to be kidnapped. Not that I want to be abducted by some strange old man or anything, I just imagine it to be a pretty awesome experience.

Still not being able to sleep, I roll myself a cig. Mikey stole my last packet, so I'm having to live off baki until I can be bothered to go out and buy some more. That will proberbly be a while yet. It's not often I put up with going outside. Scramblng around the couch, I try to find a lighter. I know there is one here somewhere, I saw it yesterday. I check under the cusions, but with there is no sign of it anywhere. With a sigh, I give up. I guess this means I'll have to use my energy to actually get up and fetch the matches from the cupboard.

The cupboard is on the far side of the room, so I heave myself off the couch and stumble over toward it. Digging through the piles of crap I've stored inside, I find the small box. I pull it out and slide it open. Not many left. I strike one against the side of the box then spark my cig up. Instantly, I feel more relaxed from the nicotine entering my system and I let myself fall onto the couch. I pick up a random comic off the floor and open it to the first page. Batman. I've read this particular issue thousands of times, and it never ceases to dissapoint me. It's comics like this that inspired me to become a comic book writer. Yeah, hell like that worked out. Breakfast Monkey wasn't exactly a huge hit either. Maybe Mom is right. I will end up just wasting my life away in this tiny apartment, slaving away and drawing pictures for the Cartoon Network.

At least Mikey has hope. That's proberly one thing I lack. I've given up on all the different careers I've wanted to take up. Hopefully, Mikey will have a break through. Or Ray, I know how much the two of them are into music. I guess I am too, but my musical talent is equal to a chipmunk's. Just to clarify, that means I'm not very good. My life is pretty much useless.

Once I've finished chain smoking about seven cigarettes, I feel sick and my eyes feel heavy. I roll over and close them, trying not to think of anything as I let myself go to sleep. Eventually, I do drift off.

Waking up the next morning isn't a very nice experience. I had forgotten to close the curtains, so I end up melting in the relentless sunlight that streams in through the huge window. Grumbling to myself, I roll over, forgetting that I'm not in my bed and fall onto the ground. "Fuck..." I groan, wincing. Great start to the day so far, Gerard, just mother fucking great. Genius kid strikes again.

Already pissed off at my own clumsyness, I go into the bathroom, hoping to compose myself. When I decide to look in the mirror, I wish I hadn't. I look disgraceful. Well, when don't I? Although, this is worse. It's a surprise that Mikey and Ray would want to come near a mess like the one I'm staring at now. When was the last time I washed my hair? It hangs low, looking longer than it usually does. It's stringy and uncomfortable, and almost looks wet. I pull a face at myself in disgust. "Ugh... no wonder you couldn't get a fucking prom date," I mumble to myself before clambering into the shower. I should stop talking to myself, It's not normal.

The shower is hot. Too hot, but I barely come in here so I have no idea how the fuck to make it colder. I don't even dare messing around with any of the many differnt knobs and buttons, so I let it scold my skin painfully as I lather myself in soap. It takes a lot of scrubbing to work through the dirt that has gathered on my skin. Wow, I really am one gross fuck up. I'm grimacing the whole way throught the cleaning progress, and then when I shampoo my hair, I manage to get a huge dollop of it in my eyes. Cursing violently, I reach out blindly trying to find a towel.

I've just decided I don't like showers.

Going back into the living room to flop out and be lazy on the couch, I grap some painkillers. I seem to have developed a nasty headache. The kind that feels like someone is stabbing you in the brain just behind your eye. Not nice. Knowing my luck, I proberbly managed to get it somehow from being in that damned shower. Can you get headaches from showers? I have no idea. The small box han't been opened yet, so I try to figure out how to get to it's contents. Eventually, I manage to swallow one and wash it down with a mouthfull of coffee.

The sky has darkened since I woke up. The contrast is much different from the bright chirpy sunlight that was flooding through before. Gray storm clouds fill the whole view out of the window, and rain is just beginning to pour. I smile. This weather is much more favourable to that of earlier this morning's. I keep watching out of the window as I get comfortable on the couch and grab a bag of chips. The large oak tree just outside the building is swinging slightly, it's branches flailing in the strong wind. I barely take note of it, but somewhere amongst the green, I see what looks like a streak of white floating in the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 2. COUNTING YOUR FACE AMONG THE LIVING

I refuse to look up as he stands infront of me. I'm not sure how long he has been stood there now, but I do know that he will stand there for hours, waiting to get a reaction out of me.

"I only hurt you because I need you. Don't worry, it won't take long, just a few minutes. Then it will be all over," he murmers. He flits down and crouches beside me. I flinch away as he touches my shoulder. I can feel his breath slicing across my throat, ice cold. I shiver, squeezing my eyes shut. Please make him stop, please make him stop! I want to plead this out loud, beg for him to get off me, but I know he won't. He doesn't really care about me. He hates me. Why else would he do this?

When I jerk my head away from him, he reacts instantly, snapping his hand out and cupping my face. He makes me look at him, and I try to avoid staring into his cold silver eyes. "It won't take long,"

I gulp, and know that I can't resist. He has complete control over me. Grimacing, I force myself to nod. If I don't let him do it, then he'll just do it by force, and holy cow it hurts when he does that!

"Good boy..." he purrs, patting me on the head. His hand travels downwards, and finds my wrist. Through the darkness, he runs his fingers across my scarred skin, trying to find a smooth spot. He says that using unmarked skin will make it hurt less, but it proberbly just makes it better for him in some way. Yes, I'm right there.

Lifting my arm up, he opens his mouth, ready to bite. I bite down on my lip, tensing my whole body, ready to brace myself against the pain. His fangs graze my skin, scraping across it before he breaks the surface. I feel his tongue flick across my wrist, and a small noise escapes me. I expect him to make a snide comment, like he usually does when I do that but he doesn't. Instead, I feel him crunch down into me, and I let out a sharp squeal, doing my best to hold back the screams that are building up in my throat. Eventually, the pain subsides as he withdraws his fangs and begins lapping up my blood. I wimper, tears wanting to escape, but I don't let them. I will never cry for him. He suckles the wound gently, earning more strange noises from me. I feel dirty when he's finished. I always do.

"You enjoyed that," he whispers, stroking the now quickly healing slit in my wrist. I shake my head violently, refusing to believe him. I could never enjoy that! He should see what it's like, it's not nice!

"Thank you," he tells me, like usual. I don't know why he bothers with his manners. He never says please before drinking. "Now what do you say?" his voice is sadistic and cold. I swear he only does this to make me feel even worse.

"You welcome," I spit, lifting my gaze to glare at him with the small amount of courage I can sum up. He smiles, and it does reach his eyes, but only in that icy dark way that scares me. He dissapears quickly, flitting away. I know that he will be back any minute though.

Just as I thought, five seconds later, he's stood infront of me. "Now, eat," he orders thrusting a sandwich at me. He stays for a moment, knowing that I'm proberbly about to complain. Lifting the bread up, I inspect the contents. Ham.

"No," I grunt, lifting it up to return to him.

"Well take it out. Just eat the bread, but don't blame me when you're hungry later," he folds his arms across his chest, refusing to take it from me. With a sigh, I give in. Taking the ham out, I leave it on the floor.

"I'm thirsty," I tell him, not daring to look up and inform him though.

"Well that's tough shit. You're lucky I feed you, ungrateful little bastard," he shakes his head at me, then leaves. As soon as I'm sure he won't be back, I slink down against the wall, letting the bread fall from my grasp. I'm not hungry. I know he will yell at me later for not eating, but I dont care.

I smile slightly, feeling that small jolt of rebel coarse through me. I don't care what he says, I'll do what I want. If I don't want to eat, he'll just have to accept it. I never see him eat. So why should I? I'll only end up in the bathroom, retching it up anyway. It doesn't take long though, for the smug feeling of braveness to wear off and for the darkness to creep back in.

I wish she would come back. I want her company. She makes me feel safe, and she knows what I do when I go a night without seeing her. I can't help it, but she doesn't understand that. My hand slips into my jeans pocket, and pulls the small silver object out. I play with it, swirling it between my fingers before I flick it open. It reminds me of a butterfly, the way it flutters in my grasp.I snap it shut, but leaving one blade pointing into the air. I chew my bottom lip before I put it in my mouth absent mindedly.

Will he ever stop coming for me? Will he ever let me go? These are questions I ask myself on a regular basis, and everytime, I come to the same conclusion. I'm better off staying here. The world doesn't need me to make it uglier. It's already one heck of an ugly place. I'm only a burden. Sometimes, I even think that he hates me being here. He proberbly does, but he needs me to drink from. If I don't let him, he'll have to hunt. That means he will have to kill.

I take the knife from my mouth, still thinking about things like why I'm actually here. Why not somebody else? I've asked him, but he never answers me. The knife glints in the speck of silver light being casted down through the window. I poise the blade above the already broken skin of my wrist. It takes me a few minutes, but I drop it to the floor. I can't. I need to stay strong for her. She said someone would be coming. I just have to trust her, but what if I don't want somebody else? I know she cares about me, and that is why she is helping me, but sometimes I wish he would just drain me dry. He nearly has, several times. That was a long time ago though, things have changed.

Do I want to die?

I've asked this question countless times. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes. To run this blade across my throat. He would walk in on my bleeding out body, and without a doubt he would greedily drop to his knees and lap up every last drop. Or I could drag the knife through my wrist. I'm not sure which would be quicker, but sometimes, both can be very tempting. I don't though. Something is stopping me. It was her, I'm sure of it, but now she's gone. Does that mean I can end all of this?

I glance down at the knife again. I can already see my blood soaking the blade.

No! I can't think like this! I won't, I won't, I won't! I repeat the mantra, saying it out loud. My voice is raspy and dry. It hurts to talk. I need to drink something.

Crawling forward, I reach out for the bed. Pulling myself up, I manage to stand. I look over at the door. I'm sure it's locked, but I stumble over toward it anyway. Clumsily, I fumble at the handle, but it becomes clear I won't be leaving any time soon. I've tried escaping plenty of times in the past. I haven't tried in a long time though. Maybe for about three years, but my memory becomes fuzzy after being kept in a dark hole for so long. I can't even remember how long I've been held here for. Who cares? I'm not going to be leaving. I'm stuck here. Stuck here until the day he decides to just drink me dry and dispose of my drained corpse in some ditch or a lake.

I fall to the ground, trembling. I feel angry, but I'm not sure why. The need to destroy suddenly hits me, and I pound my fist into the dirty floor. I hate him. I hate him. I fucking hate him! I can't stand it any more, I want out, I want out of here. I don't care how I get this, I'm just sick of being his prisoner. Living in this room for another day, it's going to kill me. I refuse to waste my life away in here. I don't care if getting out of here means death. I'll take it gladly. Fuck her, and fuck him. I'm sick of all of this, sick of everything. Most of all though, fuck this new kid. I hate him, I never want to see him. I don't need his help. All I need is to go away.

All I want is to dissapear.


End file.
